


And he stood from the ashes and struck another match

by Cherish_Dipp



Series: Danse's interview [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Acceptance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cliche, Fire, I needed to get it out, Moving On, Post-Blind Betrayal, don't play with it kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 08:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11916633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherish_Dipp/pseuds/Cherish_Dipp
Summary: Danse discovers his old uniform at the bottom of his trunk with his former rank still sewn into the arm.





	And he stood from the ashes and struck another match

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking this happened before the interview, but it works in happening after as well. Honestly, up to you. This was actually part of another fic I've been off-and-on writing for awhile and it fitted really well here. Maybe I'll introduce other chapters... Either way, this is cliche as fuck and I'm sorry/not sorry for that.
> 
> Also, will I write people's (* _cough_ Rhys _cough_ ) reaction to it? Um... Well, I started something but I need to figure the direction I need to go in while butchering characters in the least painful way possible. I did look up on Rhys and Haley but as you can imagine, there's not much about them D:
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

The stars were bright above Danse as he sat by an ancient barrel. The fire inside it flickered and spat playfully, giving off enough light to see clearly and more than enough warmth to starve off the chilled night air.

He was staring at the cut of cloth in his hand, turning it over and over again. It was the patchwork that was attached to the only Brotherhood uniform he managed to keep after going AWOL (since he was coincidentally wearing it at the time), unable to collect any of his other belongings shut up in his locker back on the airship.

Not that they were important; Bits of ammo, a few books, a couple of small gun mods, and a smaller hammer.

No, the real important thing was what he already had in his hand. He had spent the past hour examining every detail of it. The patch itself was the symbol of the Brotherhood of Steel; The wings, the sword, the mechanical gears – It was truly the symbol of what the Brotherhood was and what it stood for. Below it was his name and his rank.

He was attempting to find something else in his trunk (whatever it was, he can’t remember) when he found the uniform in a crumpled heap at the bottom. He usually wore a typical ‘white’ shirt and trousers these days, or leathers with combat armour when he was running with Sole or patrolling with the other companions. He somehow managed to forget that he still had the uniform. 

Danse felt his heart stop painfully when he saw it. After a moment of quiet contemplation, he slowly reached down and carefully dragged it out. When he placed it on his bed and straightened it out as much as he could, he found the patch sewn on the right shoulder was a little loose. 

Danse frowned at the threads sticking out in random places, wondering how it could have happened. It must have snagged on something at some point. While it might not look that bad, or even barely noticeable to others, if he was seen wearing it as it was while he was still a Paladin... 

… Well, he internally shrunk at the thought of Captain Kellis seeing it.

Regardless, it was entirely fixable. It was better to undo it completely then sew it back on. And that was what Danse was going to do.

He carefully plucked at the rest of the threads and removed the patch. He washed the uniform until it looked brand new and heated out the crinkles to crisp perfection. He washed the patchwork itself so the colours blazed and the rank was glaringly bold. He then made his way over to Mama Murphy to borrow a needle and some thread (who gave him the items with a sympathetic, but encouraging smile).

Finally, he sat down in front of the fire with the sinking sun for company, needle prepared, uniform laid neatly on his lap, the arm arranged in a manner that made it easy for the needle to come through and not get tangled.

And Danse found he could only stare at it.

The sun sank, the stars crept out and he still didn’t move.

He continued to stare at it.

He couldn’t bring himself to do it.

After examining it for so long, the detail was burned into his brain. He’d had it for years, ever since he’d gained the rank, so the patch itself was a little worn. Despite his efforts, the colour had faded somewhat, but it was okay, as it was still undeniably what it was and refused to be anything other than what it symbolized.

Danse cradled it in his hands. It felt weirdly heavy. 

This patch had defined what he was, who he was with, what fought for, where he went, how he was received by others, and the reason why he made decisions as he did in the past. 

Each order he gave, he stood by it and still did. Each order he received, he obeyed. To save the people of the Wasteland from the Wasteland, and to help save them from themselves. To search and discover technology in the name of Peace, progress, and to make sure a disaster such as The Bombs Falling never happened again. 

A good, noble cause. It was worth dying for.

He gently ran his thumb over the word _PALADIN_ and the memories behind it made him smile. They’ll always make him smile.

For glory, in the name of the Brotherhood of Steel.

He tossed the patch into the fire.

He watched the patchwork slowly catch, then quickly curl up as the flames charred the branding and blackened the colour. Smoke rose from it, and it snapped at him. It had this weird melting tinge to it, as if it had some sort of plastic substance in it, suggesting wasn’t entirely made of thread the way Danse had thought.

Whatever it was truly made of, the fire had its fill of it and it was now nothing more than stringy, black lump, the ash easily falling away.

Danse… didn’t ever believe himself capable of doing that. But right then, in that moment, he could, and he didn’t think there would be another opportunity to ever feel himself capable of doing it again. Because, all this time? It was as if he had been waiting for his life to pick up again and everything would go back the way it was.

Only it didn’t. And it wouldn’t. 

It still hurt. Dammit it all, it _still hurt._

It was supposed to hurt though, he realised. In a way, what he was feeling, was grief. He was mourning the life he once had, could have had, the human he thought he was, the security and comradeship that was all around him.

But right now, in that moment, Danse could see through the grief and realise that it was another way of being alive, so he welcomed the pain, cherishing it, remembering it, promising himself to never forget it. Another experience, another time, another _life_ that he went through. It took him a long time to see that.

Out of everything in his situation, quite possibly the hardest thing was remembering how to live again without the purpose that he had centred his entire life around. Even with what is probably fake memories that bore fake experiences from a fake time that never happened.

Danse’s jaw clenched and unclenched. That hurt too. But he held on with all his heart that Cutler was real. Of course he was. They joined together.

That helped. He couldn’t be sure of anything, but the moment he met Cutler, something he did remember clearly and treasured carefully, he knew that was real. 

He looked down at his uniform. It wasn’t his first one, having out grown that one as he bulked out, and then destroyed many others on missions. Or wore them to death. 

But the colour, the shape, the buckles, the attachments… the general look of it, rather than this specific uniform itself, held many memories, seen many battles, kept him insulated and warm during cold nights and acted as a cushioned barrier when he wore his power armour, which didn’t quite feel the same now.

And while it physically couldn’t stop bullets, what it represented made him feel… Stable. Secure. Supported.

Safe.

He threw that into the fire as well.

It took a while to catch, but when it did, it went down in a blaze of glory, making the fire burn brighter and reach higher, before settling back down again.

Danse leaned back in his chair, never once taking his eyes off the twisted mess. He didn’t exactly feel released. He didn’t feel free. There was still a weight upon his chest, grief in his heart and his hands were fisted in anger. 

He wasn’t okay. But everything else was okay.

He could still fight. For freedom, peace, and the protection of others. He hadn’t lost his skills, his fitness and still had his own mind no matter what it was actually made of.

So, he wasn’t okay, but could he be. 

The fire in front of him burned strongly after being fed so well, eating up what Danse had treasured most in the world.

But Danse looked across the patches of harvest growing across where the park once stood and towards the houses where the settlers and companions he was finally getting to know slept on; secure, supported. 

Safe.

Inside his heart it was as if a match was struck and a small flame flickered into existence again.

And that’s all one really needed, wasn’t it?


End file.
